


Whimsy

by wedjateye



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedjateye/pseuds/wedjateye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yohji helps Aya get ready for a mission. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whimsy

“Kudoh,” Aya growls threateningly, jerking his foot back.

“What?” Yohji asks innocently, maintaining his wide eyed gaze until Aya looks away at the bedspread, distracted by the feel of Yohji’s fingertips lightly circling his other ankle.

“Nobody’s going to see my feet,” Aya huffs finally.

“It’s the psychology that matters. Authenticity is important,” Yohji opines confidently, pressing his advantage with agile fingers against Aya’s sensitive skin.

“Just… don’t take long,” Aya relents, surrendering his reclaimed limb.

Yohji hums happily, his ‘besides, it’s hot’, barely audible.

Aya snorts resignedly. One of them definitely needs a psychologist.

Aya leans his head back against the wall. Clears his mind of everything except calm purpose, ignoring the discomfort of hair shifting spikily against his neck and eyelashes catching together with every blink.

“Stop that,” he snaps at Yohji.

“You wanted it to be quick!” Yohji protests, mouth quirking into a lopsided grin as he resumes blowing warm breath across Aya’s toenails.

“Tickles,” Aya complains sourly. Maybe he can get Kritiker to pay for the counselling.

“Mmm. All done.” Yohji relinquishes his hold and Aya reluctantly drags himself over to the mirror to inspect the damage.

Startled eyes peer from within blackened rims, lashes impossibly dark, against skin rendered translucent by the contrasting heavy black streaks decorating Aya’s hair. Aya twitches a shiver loose from his shoulder blades and looks down at his hands and feet.

“Oh.”

Disconcerting, how easily a little black nail polish has rendered him a stranger to his own eyes.

“Perfection, if I do say so myself,” Yohji purrs.

“Whatever, Kudoh. Just do me the favour of never telling me why you happened to have all this crap on hand.”

Yohji manages a hurt expression long enough for Aya to snap back into mission mode. What he looks like isn’t important.

He reaches for the heavily studded, black leather collar. Pauses in buckling it up to investigate the contented rumbling sounds emanating from the bed.

Yohji is almost writhing against the bedclothes.

“What?” Aya asks, one brow raised.

“Did I mention that I really, _really_ like this mission?” Yohji husks.

Aya quells him with an icy glare. He watches Yohji sulkily pull himself into a semblance of readiness, as Aya finishes his own preparations.

“Come on Kudoh,” Aya hooks one finger negligently into the heavy ring at his neck, “the sooner we leave, the sooner we get home.”

Yohji freezes, mouth gaping.

Aya allows a fleeting, wicked smile to cross his face, as he tugs hard on the ring, momentum whipping his head around, body following out the door.

“Wait for me,” Yohji chokes out, scrambling after Aya eagerly.  



End file.
